Riddikulus
by Sue Snell
Summary: Five encounters with the Mystery Shack boggart.
1. Chapter 1

Ford had no idea there was a boggart in his house until McGucket went and made a fuss about it.

It was an otherwise peaceful Tuesday afternoon. Ford was in the kitchen, rushing through a late breakfast of coffee and dry cereal. McGucket was headed for the study to work on a new spell. One moment everything was fine, then a moment later there was a shriek of panic followed by running footsteps.

Ford dropped his spoon. Had McGucket's spellwork backfired? Was he hurt? Abandoning his coffee mug on the table, he drew his wand. He headed for the study, only to have McGucket crash into him coming the other way. His friend appeared unscathed by whatever had transpired, but he was pale as a ghost.

"Ford!" McGucket slammed the study door shut behind him, shaking the walls.

"What is it, Fiddle—"

"Ford there's, there's… I…" McGucket gasped for air as he stumbled over his words, on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Calm down, man! Tell me what happened."

"There's a boggart in there!" McGucket pointed, his entire arm rigid, at the closed door.

"A boggart?" Ford's eyebrows rose. "You don't say…" He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, calmer now he knew all this commotion wasn't over a _real_ threat.

"You said this house was _new_ , Stanford; _how_ can you have a boggart already?"

Ford shrugged.

"I don't always lock the door when I go out, and there's a lot of caves around here. I suppose one could've tried the door and wandered in one day." He frowned. "Are you mad at me?" McGucket was shaking. Before he could answer, Ford added, " _Say_ , do you think we could contain it? We could study it!"

"…you've got a boggart smart enough to _open doors_ and you wanna…" McGucket closed his eyes and shuddered.

"Fiddleford, are you alright?"

"I gotta, I gotta… You've got a phone, right?"

"What?"

"This _house_ , Stanford." McGucket was breathless and agitated and still trembling. "You said you hired no-maj contractors, no-maj electricians… you said you even paid a no-maj to furnish it."

"Well _I_ wasn't about to waste time on it when—"

"They woulda put in a _phone_ , right?"

"Oh. Yes, I suppose they did. Doubt it works all that well, what with the obfuscation spell."

"Take it down."

"What? You don't mean—"

"I—I have to make a call. Can't you take down the obfuscator for just a couple minutes?"

"Really now, Fiddleford, I don't think—"

"I gotta call my wife, Ford." His eyes were wide enough to show circles of white all the way around the irises. " _Right now_."

"If it's that urgent, why don't you just apparate to her?" Apparating over that kind of distance wasn't easy, but he'd seen McGucket do farther. Of course, that _did_ take concentration…

"I-I can't—not while I'm like this, I'll splinch— _please_ , Stanford." His friend was close to tears. Clearly there would be no arguing with him while he was "like this" either.

"Very well. The phone's in the living room, I think." Ford pointed. "But I don't want to go without obfuscation for more than a few minutes, understand?"

McGucket gave a jerky nod and made a beeline for the living room, Ford trailing after him. He reversed the obfuscator as quickly as he could, McGucket already dialing.

Ford supposed the polite thing to do would be to leave, giving McGucket some privacy. He suspected the conversation would run too long if he left the man to his own devices, though. Besides, he had to admit he was curious. What sort of conversation did McGucket so desperately need from his wife? What did he expect her to tell him to soften the terror of his encounter with the boggart?

He wondered if McGucket would tell her what he saw. He was having trouble guessing himself. A spell gone wrong? One of the dangerous magical creatures that called Gravity Falls home? Whatever it was, Ford couldn't imagine Mrs. McGucket knowing how to comfort her husband about it. She was only a no-maj, after all.

"H-hey hon, it's me." McGucket's call must have gone through. "You got a minute?" The still-shaking hand that wasn't holding the phone raked through his hair a couple of times. Then he patted it down, straightened it as if worried about his wife seeing it messy. Ford rolled his eyes.

"Aw no, no, nothin's wrong, 'course not." McGucket gave a high-pitched chuckle. "Just checkin' in. I miss your voice." He twiddled the phone cord around his finger, wrapping it so tight it went purple. "How's the baby doin'?"

Ford shook his head and ducked back into the hallway. If McGucket was going to waste his time with idle chit-chat and make no allusion to his encounter with the boggart, he might as well have his privacy after all. In the meantime, it wouldn't do to let the boggart run amok in the study.

Containing the creature was a simple matter, even without McGucket's help. Ford could cast _riddikulus_ well enough to amuse himself. (Which was only natural; in his own estimation Ford's sense of humor was most impressive.) When he stepped into the study, the creature took the form of some anonymous, wide-eyed no-maj. The intruder allegedly stumbled in while the obfuscator was down. One casting of _riddikulus_ took the boggart's fictional no-maj from a wily threat to a bumbling buffoon he easily trapped in the closet.

After that McGucket wanted him to contact the Department of Magical Creature Containment to remove the boggart, but Ford refused. First of all, that sort of thing cost money, and he was not about to pay for a service he was sure he could perform himself. Secondly, he found McGucket's concern childish. They both knew how to cast _riddikulus_ , so why should either of them have any problem with a boggart in the house? It might even be worth studying, in the midst of what downtime they got from their main project.

Then again, perhaps he was the unreasonable one for assuming there would be any such downtime. The portal was coming along quicker than ever now that McGucket had come up here to help him. At first Ford had worried having his friend here would slow things down, since he'd decided to keep Bill a secret. Bill was good at making himself scarce when the need arose, though, and if McGucket had any suspicions, he had yet to voice them. The balance was working, so far.

Ford hoped this little boggart kerfuffle wasn't a sign of things to come, a sign his friend would panic and retreat at the first sign of trouble. If something upset this precarious balance, well… _that_ would be worth fearing.


	2. Chapter 2

The boggart was probably smart enough to open doors, perhaps smarter. That was how Ford suspected it came to live in his house in the first place, after all, and McGucket found this theory most plausible as well.

Funny, then, that both of them were always surprised when it found a way out of its closet.

It was a sunny summer afternoon, and Ford had just gotten back from an emergency grocery run. (They were out of coffee, and the brewer McGucket had magicked into always keeping its pot full kept trying to leave the house to find more. When he stepped inside, it was waiting by the door like a faithful puppy.) After dropping the grocery bags on the floor, he went into the living room and spotted McGucket. Funny, he'd usually still be down in the lab at this hour.

"Hiya, Sixer!" A big, cheerful grin was plastered across McGucket's face.

"Hello…" Ford frowned at his friend. Something was off about him, something about his eyes he couldn't quite focus on. "…Fiddleford?"

"Yep!" he chirped, "But, then again… _no_." He laughed, and it didn't sound a thing like McGucket's laugh, but it _was_ a laugh Ford knew. He saw it now, though he had to sort of tilt his head sideways and squint to catch it: Vertical pupils, like a cat.

" _Bill?_ "

"Look who finally caught up! I must say, Stanford, I'm a little disappointed in you. There you were, actin' like partnering up with _you_ was this big investment in genius, when, this whole time? Your little sidekick here was the _real_ brains of the outfit."

"I, I don't understand…"

"Ha! Of course you don't, dumb-dumb! Here, lemme spell it out for ya." He started talking more slowly: "I wanted to make a deal with a _real_ genius. I. Don't. Need. You. Anymore."

"You…" Ford's hands clenched into fists. At least that kept them from shaking. "I refuse to believe that! Fiddleford wouldn't shake hands with something like you if you paid him! You, you must've tricked him somehow! Get out of him right now!"

Bill chucked.

"I don't think so, Fordsy. But trust me, Four Eyes here doesn't mind. Guess you don't know your 'friend' as well as you think you do. Now do us a favor and get outta here, Sixer. The grown-ups got work to do."

"But…"

"But what?" asked Bill, adjusting McGucket's glasses with a flourish.

"Bill, I… I thought _we_ were friends."

"Y'know what? I used to think so too, but a _real_ friend wouldn't've kept a gem like _this_ a secret." He emphatically poked McGucket's head, as if to point straight at his brain. "I guess it's true what they say about Slytherins: Always out for yourselves. Shoulda known it'd take a Ravenclaw to see the bigger picture."

"Y-you, you…" Ford felt ready to punch his possessed friend in the face, or throw up, or lock himself in his room for at least week, or maybe do all of that at once. Meanwhile Bill was laughing so hard he had to hug McGucket's stomach and wheeze for air.

" _Bombarda!_ "

Ford jumped at—Was that _McGucket's_ voice?—and dove back from the small blast that knocked Bill over. He needn't have bothered though. While Bill was down and struggling to get back up, all Ford felt from the spell was a brief gust of wind. He knew only one wizard who could cast _bombarda_ with such precision.

"Fiddleford!"

Indeed, leaning in the doorway to the kitchen, panting like he'd run a mile, was a second McGucket. As for the first…

"It's the boggart!" Ford pointed to the shuddering pile of limbs struggling to its feet

"I know it!" McGucket ran into the room with his wand angled at the beast. "It got the drop on me a minute ago and I'm _still_ pullin' myself together!"

"We need to get it back in its closet!" And find a better way to secure it this time, but there was no time to worry about that now. "Can, can you cast _riddikulus?_ " It burned him up inside to admit it—even indirectly—but Ford was too flustered to trust himself to come up with anything funny.

"Maybe," said McGucket, creeping closer and peering down at the boggart, "Lemme get a look at what I'm workin' with firs— _what_ the…?" He was close enough now to see the form the boggart took was his own. At least he wouldn't catch the altered eyes from this angle, thank goodness. He shot Ford a questioning look, but the monster was nearly upright, and McGucket wasted no time blasting it to the next room with another _bombarda_.

With a shrug, McGucket said, "Looks like that'll move it."

Indeed.

By the time they got the boggart back in the closet, neither of them had bothered to cast _riddikulus,_ but it was contained just the same. McGucket stared at the closet door while Ford caught his breath.

"What did 'I'…?" he began to ask, but he trailed off when he saw the look on Ford's face. He shook his head. "Nevermind. Ain't none of my business, I'm sure. So long as you don't believe none of it now."

Ford said nothing, still recovering from the surrealism of it all.

"Hey, I'm bein' serious here. Whatever he said, whatever he did, it wasn't real, Stanford. Promise me you understand that. Please?"

"Of course…" said Ford distantly.

Right. Of course he wouldn't let this shake him. He knew Bill would never betray him like that.


	3. Chapter 3

Stan pulled his thin jacket tighter around him as he knocked on the door to Ford's cabin. For the fifth time.

"C-c-c-c'mon Ford…" he muttered, brushing snowflakes off his sleeves, but there was _still_ no answer. This was dumb. Ford _had_ to be expecting him, right? He'd only gotten Ford's owl a couple days ago, and Ford knew he'd never been any good at apparating. He couldn't have given up on him already, could he?

Stan knocked again, then tried the doorknob, just in case. Locked. Of course. It wasn't a magic lock, so _alohomora_ would do the trick, but… Whatever. Not like there was any use standing around wishing he still had a wand.

Especially when he _did_ have a lock pick.

"Ford! You here?" Stan called into the gloomy house, closing and locking the front door behind him. Something flickered at the edge of his vision, and he turned to see… a ghost? A ghost that looked like—

Stan's heart froze in his chest.

"Stanley!"

"Wha— _no_ — _St-Stanford?_ "

"What took you so long?!" the phantom demanded, "I waited and waited and now it's too late, Stanley, you understand?"

"No… _No,_ Ford I, I came as fast as I could…"

"It's too late!"

" _No!_ " His fist hit the wall, but he didn't notice the pain. "Ford, tell me what happened. W-we can fix this!"

"Fix _this?_ " Ford crossed his transparent arms. "I don't think so, Stanley."

"At least…" Stan's voice cracked. "At least tell me where your body is."

"Why, so you can hide the evidence before you leave?"

"What? No! I… I'm not gonna leave ya, Ford."

"And why not? You think _I_ want you here? After everything you've done?"

"Ford—"

"Well I don't! Really, Stanley, didn't I suffer enough at your hands in life? I think I've earned the right to rest in peace."

"Y-you don't mean that…"

"I _do_ mean it. _Get out!_ " Upon this shout, Ford's form flickered like an image on a worn-out film reel. Stan's stomach dropped. He knew what that meant.

He wasn't the best student back at Hogwarts, but he still remembered some of his classes, and Defense Against the Dark Arts had often been interesting enough to hold his attention. He knew a couple things about ghosts, and one of those things was how ghosts changed. How a ghost went from the harmless kind of thing you saw roaming the halls of Hogwarts to… the kind of thing you learned about in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Most ghosts looked about like they did in life. Sometimes, though, when a ghost was sad or angry enough and the source of their pain was close at hand, that pain would change them. It'd warp them into something way further from human than your typical spirit. They'd lose their shape, their voice, their character—everything they had that could tell you who they used to be. Ultimately they got all twisted into this ragged, eerie-looking, spectral menace straight out of a no-maj horror flick. These ghosts carried no trace of their original personalities. They were just these… _things_ that all looked basically the same, like what you pictured when you tried to think of a "scary" ghost.

Ford's ghost was starting to look like an angry skeleton in a ragged cloak. It was spooky and… generic. Stan's eyes burned. If he didn't know better, he'd never be able to tell that was his brother.

"Stanley?"

Stan jumped and whirled around to see a cloaked figure lurking in the doorway.

"…Ford?" His eyes darted back and forth between the angry specter before the fireplace and the haggard figure in the doorway.

"Stan," said the one in the doorway, "What…?" His eyes landed on his ghostly double. "Oh for—how did you get out again?" He brandished his wand. " _Riddikulus!_ " The ghost lost its skeletal shape and morphed into something rounder, friendlier, almost cartoon-y. Stan thought it was over, but then it turned on Ford and started changing shape again.

" _Riddikulus!_ " Ford cried, flicking his wand firmly, but this time the creature didn't react. It continued its transformation into… a pyramid? Stan couldn't tell what it was going for, but whatever it was worked Ford into a panic:

" _Riddikulus! Riddikulus! R-riddikulus!_ " His latest assaults had no effect. "Stanley, help me!"

"I don't have a—"

"Quickly!"

Ford reached into his cloak and whipped out a second wand. Keeping his eyes on the boggart, he flung it in Stan's direction. By some miracle Stan caught it, and brandished it awkwardly as he turned on the monster. The wand felt heavy and unbalanced in his hand.

The boggart looked like a giant corn chip. Stan would have to ask Ford what the heck it was supposed to be once this was over.

" _Riddikulus!_ " Stan cried, waving the unfamiliar wand. The tip sparked a little, but otherwise nothing happened.

" _Riddikulus!_ " he tried again. The wand didn't like him, and wielding it felt like trying to coax the last of the ketchup from a glass bottle. Winding up his arm as if about to deliver a knockout punch, he tried one more time:

" _Riddikulus!_ "

This time the spell made it out of the wand. A split-second later the boggart's vague, triangular form was smothered in nacho cheese.

" _What_ the…?" Ford's forehead wrinkled in confusion. Honestly, Stan found the look on his face a heck of a lot funnier than what he did to the boggart. He laughed.

The boggart shrank back from the sound of Stan's laughter. With a little chuckle of his own, Ford surged forward and kicked it into a closet. It banged on the door a couple times, and they watched apprehensively, gripping their wands. Soon it fell quiet, though, making no attempt to escape.

For a while the brothers stood there, catching their breath, both hesitant to break the silence. Eventually, Ford spoke:

"Ghosts, Stanley? Really?"

Stan crossed his arms. He didn't wanna talk through what his boggart really was. Instead he asked, "And what the heck was yours? A traffic cone?"

"It's… complicated. And I'm afraid there's no time to explain." Ford turned and swept through the doorway he'd come in through, beckoning Stan to follow. They wound up in a dark, cold basement. Wasn't _this_ supposed to be the kind of place boggarts liked?

Ford explained the situation in a flurry of words that mostly went over Stan's head, and the whole time Stan had a bad thought he couldn't shake: Whatever weirdness Ford was working on down here was so creepy, it scared the boggart away. If things had gotten _this_ bad already, maybe he was too late after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Dipper didn't expect to bump into Mabel in the upstairs hallway. Still, he probably shouldn't have been walking down the hall with his nose buried in a book. He couldn't help it, though: It was a _spell_ book. He'd found it in Soos's breakroom, dusty and abandoned. They weren't great spells, just simple things to speed up chores or perform the odd household repair. Still, Grunkle Stan kept so few spellbooks around the house, Dipper couldn't help freaking out a little when he found one.

"Oof! What the—oh. Sorry, Mabel. Thought you were downstairs."

"Whatever. Just watch where you're going, Pine Tree."

"Yeah…" Did she call him…? No. That couldn't happen. But…

Dipper tried to play it cool. He pretended he hadn't noticed as he— _super_ casually—slid his hand into his pocket. His fingers wrapped around the handle of the "emergencies only" wand Stan had given him. Not the smartest move. It wasn't like he knew any spells that could hurt Bill.

Either his face or the grab for his wand gave him away; Mabel laughed, and it didn't sound a thing like her normal laugh. Dipper's chest clenched. Before hearing that laugh, he thought he might be wrong, but now…

"That's right, Pine Tree!"

Dipper couldn't tell if that sounded more like Mabel doing a really good Bill impression or Bill doing a really bad Mabel impression. Either way, it was creepy as heck.

"Thought I'd try Shooting Star on for size, and, whaddaya know? This fits great!" Bill tugged on the sleeves of Mabel's sweater like he was settling into it, getting comfy.

"N-no! Get out!"

"Make me," Bill-Mabel (Babel?) replied with a smile. She blinked one eye at a time, and her pupils were vertical slits, like a cat's.

Dipper's blood was ice in his veins. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. He felt like he might throw up. Then he heard footsteps pounding up the stairs and turned his head to see… Mabel?

"Dipper!"

"Mabel?!"

Dipper's head swiveled back and forth between the two Mabels like he was watching a high-speed tennis match.

"Dipper, it's me!" said the newest Mabel, "Wendy told me the Mystery Shack boggart got loose. She's getting Grunkle Stan."

"The what?" Sure, Grunkle Stan liked to tell tourists (except the no-maj ones) there was a boggart lurking somewhere in the Shack, but Dipper thought he made that up.

"She's lying!" cried Babel.

"Oh yeah?" said Mabel. She pulled out her emergency wand. " _Riddikulus!_ "

Babel stumbled back from the spell, form unchanged. Dipper wasn't surprised. He'd read about that spell, and it was supposed to be hard, even for witches who knew what they were doing.

Babel looked back to Dipper, but then its eyes widened and focused on something over Dipper's shoulder, in his and Mabel's room. Dipper risked a glance over his shoulder but saw nothing there.

"Wha—"

" _Oh_ my gosh!" Babel squealed in a voice that sounded a lot more like his sister, "Is that a hot _boy_ boggart? Out of my way, dork!" She charged past Dipper into the bedroom.

"What the heck…?" Dipper muttered. Then he caught the smirk on real-Mabel's face and burst out laughing. The spell had worked after all.

"Not funny!" Babel yelled from their room. It tried to dart back into the hallway, but Mabel slammed the door in its face.

"Nice one!" Dipper high-fived Mabel.

"Thanks," she said. Frowning at the door, she added, "But, um, hey. You know that's never gonna happen, right? I'd _never_ shake hands with Bill. Not in a billion years! Especially after what he did to you."

"Well yeah, but…" Dipper rubbed the back of his head. "I mean, he tricked me, right? What if he tricks you too?"

"C'mon, I'm not _stupid_."

"What, so _I'm_ stupid?"

"That's not what I meant!"

Dipper crossed his arms.

"It's what you said."

"No, Dipper, come on…"

An ominous rustling sounded from inside their room. They both stared at the door.

"What's it doing in there?" Dipper wondered, leaning close to the door.

"It wouldn't mess with our stuff, would it?"

"I don't know…" Dipper straightened up with a jolt. "Mabel, the journal's in there." He reached for the doorknob.

"Wait!"

"What?"

"We can't let it out. It already made Soos cry once."

"Okay, yeah…" Dipper's hand was still on the doorknob. Another, louder, ominous rustle came from inside the room.

"Dipper…"

"I'm not gonna let it out, but… What if we could get it to go in our closet? It can't hurt anything in there." He looked to her. "You did a _really_ good job with that spell just now. Do you think you could do it again?"

"I guess… Are you sure you wanna see that again?"

"Sure. It won't be as bad if I'm expecting it, right?"

"If you say so…"

"Good. Let's go." Dipper flung the door open and ran inside, afraid that if he didn't do it fast he might get too scared to do it all. He knew it _shouldn't_ be as bad if he expected it, but, even so, his heart pounded as his eyes darted around the room. He didn't see Babel, though.

"Huh?" he said, "Where'd it—"

"Boo."

Dipper spun around to see the boggart standing by the doorway, where Mabel had just stepped inside. It wasn't shaped like her anymore, but the shape it took now was just as familiar: The reverend costume, the painfully-wide grin, the eyes still cat-like. It was an image that had popped up in Dipper's nightmares more than once since that puppet show.

"Heya, sis!" Bipper chirped at Mabel. "Did ya miss me?" He cackled to himself and adjusted the hang of his jacket. "Admit it, you missed me."

Mabel froze, eyes glassy. Oh no. She was supposed to be the one taking down the boggart right now. If there was a way to make this funny, Dipper sure as heck couldn't think of it. This was bad. Bad, and, now that he stopped to think about it, kind of insulting.

"Wait, what?" said Dipper, "Are you serious? _I'm_ dumb for thinking Bill could trick _you_ once, but you think he could get me _twice?_ "

"I—I don't know…" Mabel murmured, backing away from Bipper.

"Well I did already trick ya once, Pine Tree." Even as he talked to Dipper, Bipper kept his creepy cat eyes on Mabel. "So who's to say I can't do it again? I mean, it wasn't exactly hard the first time."

"Mabel!"

"Th-that's not what I think!"

Bipper cackled.

"Right!" he said, taking another step toward Mabel. He was backing her into a corner. " _You_ think I won't even _have_ to trick him again."

"Huh?" said Dipper. The boggart turned to him, still keeping Bipper's form.

"You dumb kids don't know the rules. How do ya know that shaking your hand _once_ ain't all I need to come back and try this suit on again whenever I feel like it?"

"What?"

"You heard me, Pine Tree." Bipper took another step toward Mabel. He had her cornered now, and Dipper ran toward them, hoping to get between them. Before he got there, Bipper whirled around and gave him a glare that stopped him in his tracks. He looked like he wanted to fight him.

"W-well," said Dipper, crossing his arms and pretending he _meant_ to stop here, "If Bill _could_ do that, how come he hasn't yet, huh? Yeah!" He pointed a finger at boggart-Bipper. "I guess you aren't as plausible as you thought. Right, Mabel?" Maybe if she stopped believing this could happen, the boggart would turn into something else.

"Yeah, sure…" she muttered.

" _Or_ ," said Bipper, "I'm just waitin' 'til you least expect me." He turned back to Mabel. "Maybe a few weeks down the road I'll wake you up in the middle of the night like this, eh, Shooting Star?"

"I don't buy it!" Dipper yelled, hoping to convince Mabel. He _did_ kind of buy it, though. At least enough that he suspected a new nightmare had just been added to his nighttime lineup.

" _She_ does," said Bipper in a sing-song voice.

"Mabel!"

"What?!"

"Stop letting it do this! Stop giving it ideas!"

"I'm trying! It's not like I get to pick what it does!"

"Oh yeah?" Dipper was still scared, but now he was angry too, and he gave "Bipper" an experimental shove. It wobbled but stood its ground, turning on him with a growl. With a twisty, doughy motion that was nauseating to watch, it shifted back to the "Babel" shape from before.

"Yeah!" Mabel yelled. Then, seeing the boggart's new shape, she added, "Oh come on, really?"

Babel's fists clenched and she took a step toward him, and Dipper couldn't help backing up a few paces.

"What do you mean, really? I don't get to pick what it does either!"

"But we talked about it! I wouldn't make a deal with Bill!"

"Neither would I!" Now Babel was starting to corner him like Bipper had cornered Mabel. He'd try shoving it again, but it'd feel weirder while it was shaped like Mabel, and what if it decided to fight back this time?

"That's not—I— _Dipper_ …"

"Whatever!" Dipper snapped, face hot, "Just, just… Wait, just cast _riddikulus_ again!"

"Oh! Right!" Adjusting her grip on her wand, Mabel flicked it at her double. " _Riddikulus!_ "

The tip of her wand sparked, but nothing happened to the boggart.

"Mabel!"

"I-it's harder than it looks, okay?! _R-riddikulus!_ "

Again, nothing. Babel giggled.

"You did it before!"

"I'm _trying_ , okay? _Riddikulus!_ "

More nothing.

"What the heck?!" Dipper was scared, not mad, but when Mabel flinched at his shout, he realized he sounded mad.

"Gee, Pine Tree," said Babel, "You should go easier on Shooting Star. Or not. When you two aren't getting along it's that much easier to make a deal…"

"Shut up!" Next thing Dipper knew Mabel was charging up to her double and shoving her with all her might. Babel went down and landed on her butt. Huh. Maybe you didn't need _riddikulus_ to fight a boggart.

Babel jumped back up, whirling on Mabel and shifting into—that had to be Bipper again, right? But he wasn't wearing the reverend costume from the puppet show. He was dressed the way Dipper normally dressed: Vest, hat, shirt that hadn't been washed in two weeks…

"Did you seriously just _push_ me?" boggart-Dipper asked. He didn't sound like Bill anymore… Moving carefully in the hope of not attracting the boggart's attention, Dipper sidled over to stand next to Mabel.

"Are you a witch or not?" boggart-Dipper went on, "I just need _one_ stupid spell from you and you can't even do it!" He threw up his hands in frustration. "I don't even know why I'm still hanging out with you. We were supposed to learn _magic_ this summer, but all you do is mess around! You're holding me back."

Now that he stood next to Mabel, Dipper could confirm his suspicion: Boggart-Dipper didn't have Bill's creepy cat eyes anymore. He was just Dipper. Even so, Mabel's eyes were wide and watery, transfixed. It didn't make sense, but she looked even more upset than she'd been when the boggart was Bipper.

"I can't believe I gave up my chance to have my own room. You know I only put up with this so I don't have to listen to _you_ cry about it, right?"

"Mabel, don't listen to him!"

"Maybe when we get to magic school I can finally stop pretending to be your friend."

"Mabel!"

Dipper grabbed her shoulder and shook her, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the boggart. He let go of her, his hands clenching into fists.

"You know, sometimes I wish I was an only child."

"Shut up!" Dipper ran and tackled himself, expecting to knock himself over, but "he" was surprisingly heavy. The boggart turned to look at him and grinned. Its hair lengthened and the familiar shape of Mabel's braces emerged from its teeth with a wet squelching sound. Her pupils once again narrowed into slits.

"This is exactly how it's gonna happen for real, you know." Babel's voice was so soft Dipper doubted Mabel could hear her. "I'm gonna find her when she's too upset to think straight. You won't be there to stop her from doing something hasty, and…"

" _Riddikulus!_ " Dipper didn't even have something funny in mind; he just wanted to make it stop talking. His wand fizzled like a broken lighter. Babel laughed.

"You acting like you know how to handle that wand is pretty _riddikulus_."

"Sh-shut up!" Dipper sputtered, cheeks reddening.

"Psh." Babel shoved Dipper away and he stumbled back a few steps, his wand dropping from his hand. Babel, meanwhile, morphed back into Bipper—no, still normal Dipper.

"Now," it said, looking back to Mabel, "Where was I? Oh, right: Enjoy summer while you can. Both the magic schools Grunkle Stan told us about split everyone up into houses, and I'm gonna do whatever I can to make sure I don't end up in your— _ow!_ Dude!"

"Ow, ow, ow ow ow…"

Dipper didn't put any thought or planning into it. He just ran up to his double and punched him right in the face, sending him reeling. And now his hand hurt. But, judging by its reaction, so did the boggart's face:

Boggart-Dipper was hunched over, practically bent in half, clutching his jaw where Dipper hit him. Hey, if its recovering stance put its face at knee height anyway…

Dipper ran up to the monster and kneed it in the nose, knocking it over.

"Dipper, are you okay?" Mabel gasped, running up to him. Almost as an afterthought, she gave floor-Dipper a solid kick to the stomach.

"Ow! Mabel!" the boggart whined, voice a _little_ more high-pitched than Dipper thought strictly necessary. Mabel ignored it.

"Doing better than him, I guess," Dipper said, shaking his throbbing hand. Seeing his double trying to get back to its feet, he stomped on one shoulder. It squished under his foot like it was nothing but a bag of jelly.

"Ew…" He tried to extract his foot, only the find the boggart's "skin" stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

Mabel nudged the melty mess with her own shoe.

"So do we just… roll him in there?" She pointed to their closet.

"I _guess_ …" said Dipper, finally managing to shake his foot free. "Uh, you first."

"Psh, I don't think so."

"Oh, come on."

"Not it!" Mabel hollered, touching her nose.

"We've been over this, you can't do 'nose goes' with only two people, it doesn't make sense that way!"

"Not it! Not it! _Not_ it!"

"Ugh, _fine_ …"

Dipper wiggled one foot under the gelatinous blob and gave it a kick. The boggart rolled like a sack of laundry and, after a couple more kicks, was secure in the closet. Before he got the door all the way closed, it whispered in Mabel's voice: " _See ya at the sorting ceremony…_ "

Dipper slammed the closet door as hard as he could and propped a chair under the knob to keep it from busting out. It didn't say anything else. He turned to Mabel, gearing up for another high five, but her eyes were big and watery. She heard what it said.

"Mabel, hey, come on…"

The adrenaline rush of fighting the boggart evaporated, and Dipper sank to the floor. Mabel sat down beside him and hugged her knees to her chest.

"Mabel… You know, we'll _probably_ wind up in the same house." Maybe. But _probably_ , right?

Heck, he had no idea.

The way Soos and Wendy described the Ilvermorny sorting ceremony didn't make it sound like they'd have a choice. Grunkle Stan got cagey whenever they tried to ask him about the Hogwarts one. They knew he'd been in Slytherin, though, and that was a house with a lot of… reputation. He probably didn't want to go there, so the Hogwarts sorting probably didn't offer much of a choice either. And all this was assuming they'd even _get_ a normal sorting, coming in late like they were.

"What if we don't?" Mabel said.

"Then… I dunno, we'll make it work."

"…right."

"Look… if we don't wind up in the same house, you know it's gonna suck, right?"

She tilted her head to look at him, frowning.

"Stupid boggart-me made it sound like I _want_ us to get split up, but you don't really believe I could think that, do you? Because, seriously? Maybe you're right to be scared of Bill somehow getting to me again, but, that other thing? Us giving up on each other? Never gonna happen."

She gave him a watery smile.

"Awkward sibling hug?" she asked.

"Awkward sibling hug."


	5. Chapter 5

He'd given Wendy the rest of the day off and told Soos to take the kids for ice cream. He'd locked up the gift shop. The Shack was empty now. Just him and that thing that refused to leave. Just him and another one of Ford's mistakes.

Stan considered grabbing one of his emergency wands before heading upstairs, but didn't bother. _Riddikulus_ only helped because it made you laugh, and laughter hurt boggarts. It was good to use if someone else was around to do the laughing, but, if it was just you, there wasn't much of a point. Sure, laughter hurt boggarts, but so did punching.

When he opened the door to Dipper and Mabel's room he found… Dipper and Mabel. Dipper glared at him with his arms crossed while Mabel stood behind her brother, looking sad. She rested one hand on his shoulder. It was kind of funny: Whenever the thing wanted to be Dipper _and_ Mabel, it had to make them hold hands or lean on each other, since it couldn't split in two. You'd think a boggart smart enough to come up with this stuff would be smart enough to know that was a dead giveaway.

"We found the door behind the vending machine," said the Dipper part of it, "I called those MACUSA agents and told them everything."

"What _is_ that machine, Grunkle Stan?" the Mabel part asked, her voice strained and wobbly like she was about to burst into tears.

"Yeah yeah, real creative," Stan said, grabbing the thing by "Dipper's" shirt collar. He turned around and started dragging it behind him. That always got on its nerves, when he didn't bother looking at it.

"It looks like some kind of super-weapon," Dipper's voice piped up from behind him.

"They're gonna throw you in jail!" Mabel chimed in.

"After they turn it off forever."

Stan's grip on the thing's sticky shirt front tightened.

"And take it apart."

"Give it a rest," he muttered, hauling the thing in front of him so he could kick it down the stairs. He had to admit, Mabel's yelp of pain as the mass of boneless limbs tumbled down the steps was a nice touch.

When it reached the bottom, it remolded itself into just Dipper. He pointed an accusing finger at Stan as he came down the stairs.

"We're _gonna_ find out. We have to, unless you turn it off."

"Turn it off?" Stan scoffed. "Not on your life." The second those words left his mouth, he grimaced.

"Dipper" split down the middle like someone had yanked down a zipper from the top of his head. The left side re-formed into a full Dipper while the right became Mabel, clinging to her brother's hand.

"How can you _say_ that, Grunkle Stan?" she sobbed, "You, you care about that machine more than us, don't you?!"

"Yeah!" Dipper cried, "Well guess what? We hate you too, and we _are_ gonna make sure you never open that portal!"

"That's enough!" Stan growled. He _tried_ to punch it, but choosing what to aim for when it was like this was always a trial. He couldn't aim for the Mabel side. As much as he told himself he was being ridiculous, playing by its rules, he just couldn't. He didn't _like_ going for the Dipper side, but he could, at least, as long he didn't look directly at it, which, well…

The punch barely landed, grazing Dipper's cheek. Mabel shrieked.

"Oh yeah?" said Dipper, unfazed. One of his hands balled into a fist. The other was still wrapped around Mabel's— _literally_ : Their "fingers" twisted and twined together, melting into each other like warm taffy. "I can take you, old man."

"Wanna bet?"

 _This_ punch did land, square on the kid's jaw; Stan didn't try to look away this time. And he punched hard.

The creature reeled backwards and Stan gave it a solid kick that sent it rolling into the living room. Almost to the closet now.

"I'm gonna tell the magic police!" Dipper's voice threatened from somewhere within the doughy mass. Stan gave it another kick before it could pull itself back together.

" _I'm_ gonna tell Mom and Dad!" Mabel added.

"Uh-huh," said Stan. He weaved past it to get the closet door open. Yeah, it usually wasn't a good idea to put your back to a boggart, but it'd be easier to toss into the closet if the door was already open. The thing was stunned right now anyway, so hopefully when he turned around…

Dipper and Mabel were gone. In their place was Ford, looking angry and bitter, and not a day older than the last time Stan saw him, thirty years ago. He also looked wobbly on his feet. The boggart was still having trouble pulling itself back together.

"You're a fool if you think this will end well, Stanley," it said.

"Yeah?"

"Even if you _do_ get that portal open, I'll _never_ forgive you for everything you did!"

The boggart was a lot easier to punch when it was in this shape, and it went down in one hit. It didn't fight back when Stan grabbed "Ford" under the armpits and tossed him in the closet, slamming the door behind him. The two of them had played this game enough times over the years; the boggart could tell when playtime was over. Used to be this was the part where it'd pound on the door and screech and howl for the next hour or so. Nowadays it was content to get out one last jab in Ford's voice:

" _Never_."

Stan sighed and locked the closet door, trying the handle a couple of times to make sure it was locked. It was dumb that the thing never bothered to make Ford any older, right? By this point he had to be an old man too. They'd both had thirty years to learn better, to stop being the blind, angry, idiots they were when they were young. Thirty years. That was long enough to let go of some of the stupid stuff, right?

 _Never_.

The boggart was great at Ford's voice, even more convincing than it was with Dipper's and Mabel's. It'd had more time to practice that one, after all. Funny thing was, it didn't have to bother, with the voice part. It was already convincing enough, knowing exactly what Ford would say.


End file.
